


Off Limits!

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 18:52:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14721671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: In which the usually cheery Goniff sulks, Chief breaks his usual reserve and speaks his mind to give a bit of good advice, Garrison yells,  Major Kevin Richards tries to keep secrets, and Meghada's big brother Michael tries to keep the shit from totally hitting the fan.  And, just what the hell was with those sheep???





	Off Limits!

None of them wanted to say what they'd been doing, but from the sheepish looks and grumbling voices and the way Casino snapped at her for asking, it had probably been some of their usual nonsense. (Later she would find out that description, in total, was particularly apt!). She figured she'd find out later, most likely, and set about getting a pot of coffee going.

Sending Goniff into the bathroom to get dried off, offering the loan of a dry pair of trousers and shirt, earned her a highly indignant look; she really didn't see what the issue was, they would have fit better than what he had on and had the added advantage of being dry, but the fact that they were a woman's trousers and shirt seemed to be a problem. They were perfectly plain clothes, no frills, nothing like that, just plain brown zip trousers and tan shirtwaist shirt, and she didn't see having the buttons on opposite sides of where they normally were should be such a sticking point, but refused to exercise her brain in figuring it out. She had brothers; she had come to grips long ago that there were just some things she need not bother with trying to understand. Well, at least he blotted himself off with her towels before he came back, his hair damp and sleek against his head, and sat down on the chair she'd already padded with towels.

She poured the coffee, fixed an ice pack for Casino to sit on, pulled out the medical supplies to patch them up. She'd already made them leave their wet and muddy boots outside, and each now rested their bare feet on a folded sheet or pillow case or lap robe. She thought to herself that her linen closet must surely be bare by now, and Mrs. Wilson would be wondering what on earth happened when she got the heaping basket of laundry. First though, she'd made that dreaded call to the Mansion at their request, them figuring Sergeant Major hearing any of their voices wouldn't go over well. She thought that was just delaying the inevitable, but shrugged and did as they asked. Sometimes a bit of delay was just what was needed; she agreed Sergeant Major Rawlins would not be pleased.

Turned out it wasn't the Sergeant Major who picked up the phone, but Garrison wasn't any too pleased either; hadn't been pleased when he'd returned from London to find them all gone; especially hadn't been pleased after he got off from that phone call with Constable Miller who had provided some explanation for what they'd been up to, along with how much the damages were going to cost him. Luckily, not as much as it would have been if any of the sheep had actually been injured, instead of merely being chased around the field with the men trying to separate out the one that Goniff was clinging to like a burr, before he got bucked off into the rocky and free-flowing stream. The berry bushes that at least one, maybe more, of the men had fallen into in a fit of laughter at the sight (Garrison figured that had to be Casino for sure) could be trimmed back and they were out of season, so the farmer was willing to make a deal on payment for those. The young willows along that stream, well, they'd managed to ruin two of them in their efforts to retrieve their drenched comrade without falling in themselves and those were added to the total. The upsetting of the sheep dog was more expensive, since the dog was due to compete in the local Top Dog competion next week, and the owner thought this might negatively affect his performance and cost them not only prestige but also some handsome prize money. "Dog truly hates biting someone; upsets him something fierce when he has to, you know. Takes awhile for his nerves to settle back down."

The other phone call, the one from Meghada telling him where his men currently were, well, they were all lucky NOT to have been in the vicinity when he got off the telephone. Now, at the Cottage, his face and his voice showed sheer exasperation, "what is with you guys? I was only gone for five hours! How the hell do you get into these messes?" That got him a few shrugs, an eyeroll or two, but no real answer. Well, he hadn't really expected any. And he just wasn't up to hearing just how the whole 'riding of the sheep' came into being anyway; he figured for that he needed a stiff drink first, a couple more during, and probably a couple more after. Somewhere in between, he was pretty sure he was going to find the story funny, (not that he'd necessarily ever admit that to them!) but just not now. Though he did wonder why Actor, of all of his scoundrels, was looking the most guilty. (When he discovered it had all started with Actor's recounting of the time he ran with the bulls at Pamplona, which caused Chief to tell about a rodeo he'd seen, and then Casino had gotten that look in his eye, and Goniff had gone all enthusiastic, well, he just thanked his lucky stars there wasn't a dairy farm in the area. Paying for running a herd of cows off their milk would have been a hell of a lot more expensive!) He heaved a deep sigh, "well, let's get you all cleaned up and out of here."

Meghada firmly motioned him toward a chair, poured him out a cup of her chicory coffee, added cream and told him, "I was just getting to that," indicating the antiseptic, salve, gauze and other paraphernalia laid out on the kitchen table, "but thought you'd want to get the yelling over with first. I know you like to have their full attention for that. Figured it wouldn't take you but a few minutes to make the trip over. Since no one had an artery gushing or bones protruding, I thought it was safe to wait, let them have some coffee before I get to tending them," the amused redhead offered. "Though I did put an ice pack on that little nip Casino got on his, eh, tush. And lent Goniff some dry towels."

The Lieutenant glared at her, the glare not having much effect that anyone could see; well, she'd been glared at by the best, and he had a long way to go to match up with what the Grandmother could lay out. "And what are they doing here in the first place? We have supplies at the Mansion, Sergeant Major Rawlins has patched them up any number of times. Hell, there's Doc Riley in the village. Were you in the thick of things this time too?"

Her brows raised in a 'really? You're yelling at ME over this?' look, which he had to admit was reasonable since his yelling was a little unfair; he'd taken a good look at her when he came in and it didn't seem likely, she was neat and tidy, serene, not a hair out of place; nope, he didn't think she'd been part of the charge of the sheep brigade. He flushed, which luckily she accepted as an apology. She smiled, "No, Lieutenant, not this time. They just showed up on my doorstep, looking like they'd tangled with something or someone, maybe several somethings or someones."

He turned that glare over to his men, "Well, then why??" Goniff wrinkled up his face, puzzled, like the answer to that should have been obvious. "Warden, couldn't just march back up to the gate and let Sergeant Major 'ave at us; 'e didn't even know we was gone! And there was the jeep, you know? That bloody ram kinda dented the rear bumper."

That didn't seem to improve the look on Garrison's face; he was mentally adding the cost of repairing the jeep to the already sizeable amount of money he was going to have to come up with for this little morning excursion of theirs. He supposed he was lucky the farmer hadn't tacked on an extra charge for 'putting my breedin ram off his stroke!' Maybe the farmer hadn't known about the ram's involvement, Garrison pondered. {"Yet!"}

Casino cleared his throat, "and Doc Riley, his place is closed up for a couple of days. Note on the door yesterday said he's at a meeting somewhere, be back later in the week."

"So you came here." It wasn't a question, more a weary statement of weary fact.

Actor gave an understanding glance at their commanding officer, "well, it did seem best. It was Goniff's suggestion, but it made sense even so." That rather dubious bit of support drew a rather dubious look from the pickpocket in return. "After all, it would hardly be the first time she's given first aid to us."

"And what about Major Richards putting her and the Cottage strictly off-limits? Did you think about that?" That got him some odd looks, and Actor gave a slight groan, motioning with his head over to their hostess, who was standing there in shock.

"Kevin did what??" And when did this happen? And just why did no one mention anything to me about this?" They might never have met the Grandmother, but the glare they were receiving had much in common with those given by that matriarch of the Clan. Garrison had the stray thought that he just might try to copy it; it was rather impressive; he could now see why his own had had so little effect. 

No one wanted to answer that, not with that look in her eye. Chief, unexpectedly spoke up, surprising everyone, "didn't think of it; when we got all banged up, Goniff just said . . ." and stopped, thinking maybe he shouldn't really repeat what Goniff had said from that lightning flash of alarm on the pickpocket's face. "Anyhow, knew she'd fix us up."

Garrison shook his head in frustration, "alright, alright, let's get it done and get you back to the Mansion. I've got that specialist coming in later this afternoon, and I need to be there. And I want all of YOU where I can find you! And not a word about this to anyone! Richards finds out, he'll hit the roof! I don't know what kind of a bee he's got in his bonnet, but it's a big one, and he wants NO contact between any of us and you, NONE. Off-limits was a mild word for the way he was carrying on."

Meghada turned to the antiseptic and gauze and other odds and ends laid out on the table. After everyone was seated, she smiled warmly and reached out her hand to tilt Goniff's head back to survey the damage, and was startled at the almost-sullen look on his face, "naw, I can do for myself. See to the others."

"Now, laddie, it'll just take a minute . . ."

"I said no, didn't I! Keep yer 'ands off! Don't need yer towels, don't need yer clothes, don't need you fussing over me! Shouldn't even be 'ere in the first place," he snarled at her, jerking harshly back out of reach.

Her eyes were wide, and the men were silent, looking back and forth, confused. She let out the breath she was holding, her teeth biting slightly at the corner of her lower lip, and slowly drew back her outstretched hand, rather as she did in the orchard when she realized that stick she was reaching to pick up and toss aside wasn't really a stick.

Garrison was clouding up again, on the verge of ordering Goniff to shut up, sit still, and let her do the job, but a small frowning headshake from Actor made him think twice. Actor wasn't sure what was wrong, but he didn't think Garrison forcing the issue would be of any great help.

Meghada had a rather odd look on her face as she looked at the slender Englishman, but then just nodded quietly, "as you wish." She looked around at the others, "and are you all of the same frame of mind, not wanting me tending you?" Her voice was slightly thin, carefully cautious, very controlled. She had to bite her tongue to refrain from asking the obvious question, if that was so, then why were they here?

Chief glanced over at the blond pickpocket, hair still sleeked down from their little adventure, clothes still wet though slightly blotted so he wouldn't drip everywhere, now leaning forward in the towel-padded chair, forearms resting on his thighs, his eyes never leaving her, a scowl and a pout fighting for dominance in his expressive face. "I wouldnt mind some help, Meghada, if it's all right with you," Chief offered quietly, and that pout now had a bit of resentment in it. She nodded, picked up the antiseptic and took care of his hurts carefully. Casino was next, that little nip requiring some bending and judicious baring, with surprisingly no comments or teasing, then Actor with all his scratches; it turned out it was him, not Casino, who'd run afoul of the berry bushes.

Goniff watched all of that, getting more and more morose, then grabbed the bottle of antiseptic and the healing salve as soon as she offered it to him, disappeared into the sitting room, through the library headed for the loo and its convenient mirror and sink. He hadn't said a word since his outburst, and for someone who rarely stopped talking, that was highly unusual.

It was a largely silent crew that piled into the jeep and headed out, following a fuming Garrison in HIS jeep, passing the guard at the Mansion who let out a groan at the sight, looking down at his log. The Lieutenant, that was easy, no problem. Out at 0730 hours, then back in at 12:30 hours, out again at 13:30 hours, now back at 14:40. But THEM? Now just how was he supposed to put this down? Came in at 14:40, well that was fine. But how about when someone started looking for the time they left, only to find nothing. How was he supposed to explain that? Especially since they had one of the jeeps with them?? And hadn't there been something a little off about the rear of that jeep?

Garrison had finally confided, somewhat tersely, while Goniff was cleaning up, that the order from Major Richards had come down a week ago, no explanation, just a flat order, one accompanied by several dire threats for any violations - her and the Cottage off-limits, along with any other contact, any whatsoever, not at the pub, not on the telephone, not on the street, "understand me, Lieutenant Garrison, NO contact, not even in their dreams . . . OR their nightmares!".

She'd not been back that long, had come back through London only five days ago, but Kevin Richards had handled her lengthy debriefing and made no mention of this; she'd been back here only three days herself and had slept through the first day round the clock and halfway through the next day, so hadn't thought too much about not seeing any of them, even her usual over-the-wall visitor. She was not a happy person at this stage. She was not happy with Kevin Richards, certainly; he was ranking pretty high on her pissy meter, and he had better have a damned good explanation; one that made sense to her, not just to him. Surely he hadn't guessed enough to be starting some of his usual interference! He just couldn't have, not when she'd just figured it out herself not so long ago, and still hadn't figured out what she was going to do about it. She was not happy with Craig Garrison for not at least informing her of this, even if he'd had to send a message via Ben Miller or AJ Riley; though, she relented there, decided he had probably thought she'd been informed by Richards, was already aware of the whole thing and it wasn't necessary. But the pinnacle, the ultimate, the absolute 'ring the bell and declare it over' tip-top? Well, that had to have been Goniff's behavior in there.

No, she wouldn't stay mad, in fact she was more than over that now. She doubted she really ever could stay mad at him. Now, she was just bewildered, and, if she were to admit it, more than a little hurt. Mostly she didn't try to figure him out, just let him be as he needed to be; he wore so many masks, and probably had a good and valid reason for every one of them, as she did for her own, and she wouldn't pry; he'd take them off if and when he chose to. He'd started to be a little more open, more relaxed, but she wouldn't push; whatever he gave would be in his own time, in his own way. But they were friends, she'd thought, and though for her it went much deeper, she was careful not to show that if she could help it, not til he gave some indication he'd welcome that, or at least be accepting of it. And if he truly was touch-shy, (though he hadn't seemed so before that she'd noticed), and she could think of many reasons why he might be, some quite unpleasant), well, that would a real test of her control, as her fingers seemed to be drawn to that touching, if only in the most innocent of ways.

She was cautious, afraid to cause hurt, equally afraid of being hurt, though she rather likened that to trying to fish from a mile away from the river bank, for fear of drowning. Safer, perhaps, but hardly productive. She had her share of fears, of course, but this one was new. {"Well, of course it is. This is uncharted territory for me, one where I've no map or even much of a description of what lays in front or around me. Traveling more or less blind, and perhaps not doing so good a job at it, risking losing something in this lifetime that could make the living worth the while, all for fear of showing what I've come to feel. And I'm starting to think I'm likely going to have to be the one to say something; don't know that he will, if he even does feel anything special, and wouldn't that be a blind pity, us missing out because we're both holding back."}

Still, she'd tended his hurts on more than one occasion, and her very fingers had ached today with the need to do so when he presented himself like that; to be turned away . . . She looked down at her hands, her fingers, and seemed to feel a residual tingling there. She'd touched him when she tended his hurts, she'd touched his fingers at times when handing him a cup or a saucer, she'd touched him once or twice on the cheek or on the point of his chin to get his attention when he was trying to keep his eyes from meeting hers. She'd known she was in trouble early on, when she realized not only that she was touching him, when she hardly ever willingly touched anyone any more, but also that it pleased her, deep down, that touching.

Now, he had shied away from her touch, and she wanted, needed to know why, or at least if it was something that could be resolved between them. She wanted to known that even more than she wanted to know what bee Kevin Richards had buzzing around in his bonnet.

**  
"So, you through actin like a jerk, or you gonna keep on?" The question was asked in a rather offhand, casual manner, rather as if he was asking, 'you finished with that salt shaker?'. Chief never said much, but when he did, it was usually direct and to the point.

"Not really your business, Chiefy," came as a curt reply.

Chief shrugged, "maybe not, but you're smarter than you look," that getting him a dirty look which he ignored, "even smarter than you act most of the time," Chief went on, obviously not letting that second dirty look hinder him any more than the first, "and that today, that was real dumb. Figured you probably had a reason; was just curious. Thought maybe you were embarrassed cause of what you'd said earlier. Didn't tell em, you know, her and the Warden; caught myself in time."

They both thought to what Goniff had said after they'd gotten all bunged up, "lets 'ead 'ome; 'Gaida'll take care of us right enough!" and they hadn't even questioned, just headed straight to the Cottage. There was silence, then Goniff slumped forward with a huge exhaling of air.

"I'll tell you w'at's dumb; it was me saying that in the first place. Even more dumb that it seemed right, seemed to be 'ow I'm thinking about it anymore. That being 'ome. Figure that's probably why Major Richards put 'er, the Cottage off-limits; maybe 'e'd seen something, 'eard something, wanted to put a stop right quick." He snorted disparagingly, "like there's anything to put a stop to! Chiefy, that she's willing to be friends with me, let me inside to share tea, share music and all, that's one thing; likes of 'er, wouldn't want any more than that with the likes a me, a ruddy mystery she even wants that."

"You sure about that? You talk to her about it, she tell you that?"

Goniff gave Chief a look of sheer incredulity, "'ell no! Ruin everything, that would; wouldn't want me around at all, not even for the tea and the talking and such, me with such thoughts in my 'ead! And . . ." He paused, licked his lips nervously, "and I'd miss that, I would. Seems like, sometimes . . ." and the almost aching wistfulness in his voice filled the space between them, and then there were no more words.

Chief looked over at the gloomy man leaning on the railing beside him, "you owe her an apology, you know, when all this off-limits shit is over; better make it a good one."

Goniff sniffed in denial, "doubt she'll want to 'ear it, mate. Like you said, right dumb what I said, what I did. Could tell I 'urt 'er feelings. And," he looked over at his friend, bravely admitting what Chief already knew, "I was jealous, you know. Even though I was the one pushing 'er away, 'er touching, tending to you and the others, that twisted inside. Not that I begrudge 'er 'elping all of you and she's done it before, acourse. Just, being there, 'er pouring out coffee, laughing, 'er telling me to go get dried off, change into dry clothes, just all easy like, it felt right, til it felt wrong." He dropped his head, shaking it from side to side as he groaned loudly, "ruddy 'ell, Chiefy, I'm losing my mind, aint I??!"

Chief shook his head at his friend, amused disgust in his voice, "this gets over, you get your ass over there and say you're sorry for being an idiot. Reckon she'll forgive you; she's got to know for you it comes real natural like." That got him a sheepish grin instead of a scowl, which Chief thought was a step or two in the right direction. He decided to give another little shove to see if he could move his friend a little farther down the line. He warned, "Goniff, she's not some little shop clerk, all meek and mild. She's the Dragon; you stay away to where she has to come looking for you, piss her off even more, she'll have your head; be upfront with her, she'll just bruise you some most likely."

That elicited a wry grin from the little Englishman, who gave a more cheerful shrug this time, "probably got that right, mate. 'As a temper, she does."

Goniff turned to go back inside when Chief spoke up, his voice quieter even than before, "Goniff, good things don't come our way too often, for guys like you and me. Don't be so quick to throw away something good when it does show up, huh?"

Chief followed the pickpocket inside, headed for their cots, and Goniff lay awake for some time after that, thinking of everything that Chief had said, turning his mind to the Cottage and the redhead who lived there. {"Could be 'e's right; might nothing come of it more than there is, but aint no sense in tossing it all away for no reason either. And no matter what, gotta tell 'er I'm sorry for 'urting 'er feelings."} And he rolled over and went to sleep.

**

Major Kevin Richards sighed and leaned back against the padded bench at the rather exclusive men's club, and waited for the silent waiter to bring him his drink. He looked around, wondering what he was doing here. Yes, it was officially his club; his father had been a member, and his father before him, so now he was too. Still, he didn't had the proper mindset for playing the part, not really, though he certainly could if the need was there. He was more at home in the Officer's Club, but even there, sometimes he felt out of place. Well, perhaps not out of place so much as having very odd thoughts while he was there, just as he did when he mixed with 'society' now.

He knew his association with the O'Donnell clan had a lot to do with that, and coming to know Garrison's team hadn't helped any. Both the Clan and those men tended to have rather odd opinions of things, questioning, disputing things he'd always just accepted as fact and logic and just the proper manner of doing things. Sometimes he'd be sitting there, listening to the conversation around him, all the playing of games, the deliberate maneuvering, and their voices would ring in his ears, making him perhaps see things in a different light.

The Clan had some affection for him, he knew that, though they were frequently annoyed and impatient with him and his conventional way of looking at things. Young Coura had told him in a fit of anger that the military was probably the right place for him; that it was one place where his owners were perhaps even more rigid in their thinking and had even less of a sense of humor, sense of the absurd than he did. She'd told him it was a pity though that he'd decided to make his life around those who would encourage him in his least attractive tendencies. {"One thing about Coura, she's brutally honest. Well, none of the Clan are subtle, but she really does lay it right out there."} He'd found himself not just taken aback by that flat comment, not just angry at her words, but rather hurt at the, well, not the harshness of that statement, but at the disappointment in her eyes when she said it. As if he'd let her down. Later, he though maybe it was that she thought he was letting himself down, being less than he should be, less than he was capable of becoming. He chuckled at that thought now, him letting the words of an angry eight year old girl disturb him so much; yet, he still remembered those words and that had been, what three, three and a half years ago?

He'd seen similar disappointment in Caeide's eyes, the girl's oldest sister, and the other siblings, and in Felane's, their mother. Lupan, their father, had seemed to understand what Kevin was going through, but even he wasn't supportive of Kevin's attempts to intervene; had warned him off in no uncertain terms, "you won't succeed, you know, and may take a few lumps along the way. You're way out of your depth, Kevin." Well, he couldn't have expected Caeide to be happy with him; he'd tried to move her off that road to disaster she'd stepped onto so many years ago, when she was little more than a child. He'd tried, she'd become angry and it was a long time before they made their peace, such as it was. Felane hadn't been so much angry as impatient with him, with his trying to do what he strongly felt was the right thing, but what she called "well meaning, but highly impertinent interference in something you have absolutely no knowledge or understanding of, Kevin! We're Clan, not Outlanders; Outlander ways are not our ways and never will be." Perhaps he understood all of them some better now, after all these years of working with the contract agents the Clan provided the military on occasion, but still, in certain areas, he ran into brick walls, and had never found a way either over or around them, much to his frustration, and he would admit, probably theirs as well.

Maybe it was his thoughts of the Clan that kept him from being too surprised when a tall strongly-built man lowered himself into the seat opposite.

"Mind if I join you, Major? I thought we might have a drink, maybe a bite to eat. Perhaps share some quiet conversation," all delivered in a low, pleasant voice from one Michael O'Donnell, oldest brother to the sisters he'd just been thinking of.

"I didn't know you were a member here, Michael," trying to stall for time. He only got a brief smile, and in a rather sardonic voice, "there are probably many things you don't know about me; but if it will relieve your mind, you can rest assured I have not somehow inveigled or forced my unworthy self into these hallowed halls. I am here on a guest pass given me by a friend; no, you do not need to know who, though I'm sure you could find out easily enough. I'd prefer you didn't, though."

Richards flushed at the implication of snobbery on his part, though that had perhaps been a part of his reaction. He knew his father would have probably had an apoplexy at the notion of someone like Michael O'Donnell sitting here, taking his ease. "Sorry, you caught me by surprise; I apologize for being rude."

"Not at all. In fact, it's more likely me that needs to apologize to you, for summoning you like this. But it seemed the better of two options, and one I had to argue for quite vigorously, I might add, so I really feel you owe me an honest hearing."

Richards raised his brows in question, "options?"

Michael smiled knowingly and with some small amusement, "yes, it was either me, here, or it would have been my second younger sister at some place of her choosing. I thought you might just prefer this."

Richards groaned, causing the approaching waiter to look at him with some concern, "are you quite alright, sir? May I be of some assistance?"

"No, no, I'm fine, Charles. Michael, what will you have to drink? Oh, Charles, you might bring us menus. I presume you are serving in here tonight?" The waiter assured him they were indeed, and departed to get the whiskey Michael had requested. They waited in silence til the drink was delivered, and then Michael stood, as if stretching his back, taking a fast look around and resettled in his seat. He noted with approval that Kevin had chosen a table where there was no one behind him, solid wall blocking him from the rear, empty tables to the left and right. He picked up his glass, "cheers!" and Kevin Richards followed suit. He had a feeling that feeling of comradeship just might not last.

"Actually I think you might consider yourself lucky. She, all of us, like and respect you, you know, despite our differences, and she was willing to give due consideration to the idea that you might actually have some valid reason for your recent actions concerning herself and her home. I DO believe you know what I am talking about?"

Richards sighed, pinching his eyes with a weary hand, "oh yes. I had valid reasons, but none you, none she needs to know about." Somehow he wasn't surprised at the snort he received from across the table.

Dropping the formality, Michael shook his head, "Kevin, Kevin, Kevin! Just how long have you KNOWN the women of my family? You have to know that won't fly! You might as well share with me, let me try to convince her you know what you're doing, if you do, that is. I warn you, though, if this is just more interference like you attempted with my oldest sister, I'll not go to bat for you; that was downright stupid, my friend, nothing less, and no one in the family was very pleased with you nor would have supported you, nor will they now. Face it, you either share with me now, or you'll find yourself doing an Ebenezer Scrooge, finding yourself with midnight visitors - well, at least one, and one not so benevolent as even the worst of the ones he encountered."

Kevin Richards felt a deep chill at the thought; he knew she'd have no trouble making it past all the security systems and guards, and he cringed at the thought of waking up in his pajamas to a midnight interview with a thoroughly pissed off Dragon. He took a good look around, making sure they couldn't be overheard. "No, it's not more interference." He gave Michael a rather suspicious look, "in fact, I wasn't aware there was anything going on that I might be considering interfering with. Would you like to perhaps expound on that?"

Michael grinned, "not on your life, Kevin. She's not past making a midnight call on me either, and I know, perhaps somewhat better than you, just how she reacts when she is really annoyed with someone. Unless you've ever awakened to find yourself face to face with a pair of very large, very angry river eels in your bed, you really have no concept of what her mind is capable of! Have you ever seen the teeth on those creatures??!"

The British officer had never really thought he could get away with this, anyway, keeping the information secret from her, though he'd had some faint hope. So, still keeping a close eye on those entering the room, ceasing any talk when anyone passed even remotely nearby, he told Michael the whole story. "So you see, there was a valid reason. And I really had hoped to have the whole thing resolved before she found out. Obviously she has. Should I ask how?"

Michael shook his head, "more an accident than anything else. I don't know how she'll take this. She may see the necessity of what you did, but she will NOT see your trying to keep her in the dark as a very bright move. I would not advise you doing that again, by the way; she doesn't tend to just sit quietly in a corner, you know; any number of ways her being kept out of the full picture could have backfired quite disasterously."

He got a weary nod in reply, "yes, that was a miscalculation. I admit I was more caught up in how she'd react when she DID find out." They ate their dinner interspersed with more conversation, most of it far less dire than dealing with a pissed off Dragon. They parted company afterwards, "you'll find a discreet way to let her know?"

"Yes, and you will keep her informed? If not directly, then through me or one of the brothers? And Kevin, just a gentle reminder, you're a family friend, not her father, not her brother, not her lover. Don't overstep or she'll take your toes off, more than likely. She doesn't have the patience our Caeide has, or the forebearance." Michael had no confidence that bit of advice would be followed, but he felt he did have to try.

Meghada O'Donnell walked into the small hospital after doing various errands at the various shops and warehouses of London. She spent some time, supposedly getting an examination of her injuries from the last mission, actually making a 'withdrawal' from the emergency stash she kept there. She then left through a door off a side room that led downward through a long gangway that let out many blocks away, successfully foiling that man who'd been following her. She made a side venture into the East End, which would have shocked many who would not have thought a proper haunt for a lady (she snorted at the thought of that term being applied to her), stopping in at a tiny pub for a drink and bite to eat. There she and Maude, the owner, had a companionable coze and Meghada discreetly handed over the envelope she'd prepared.

The older woman opened it, thumbed expertly through the bills enclosed, "this should do the trick; there's those who will know, will be willing to talk for the right price."

"But don't put yourself in danger, Maude, nor the Lads; we don't want that; if it comes to that, I'll find another way," Meghada cautioned.

"Nary a bit, child. The Brangle Street Lads, they're knowing ones, sly as can be; Derrick trained them well. Should have what you need right quick. Now, tell me, how is she doing up there all by herself? Not moping, is she?"

Meghada shook her head, "hardly time for her to mope, not with that big place to run. Up at 4 in the morning, not down til nigh on midnight most nights, driving herself hard, maybe partly in order not to think too much. Still, there's not a day he's not in her mind, not a second he's not in her heart, Maudie. She writes, every two weeks, just like always; if she thought it would help, bring him home any sooner, keep him any safer, t'would be every day; that first year or more, there was no answer and she had no notion of whether her letters were reaching him or not. Turns out they were misdirected, but now, he's writing back when he can. We hope, we all hope, when this damnable war is over and done, well, you know," she smiled a bit sadly.

"Aye, lass, and us too. If ever two people were meant to be together, it's those two. And you, child. Is there someone special for you?"

Maudie asked that question every time she and Meghada met, starting that first time when Meghada had been all of twelve, and expected the same answer she'd always gotten, 'no, of course not. Well, it's not so likely, now is it.' Maude had never understood that answer, but since there was no sadness or concern in the voice that gave the answer, just calm acceptance, she accepted it in her turn. Now, there was a hint of something in that young face, though Maude wasn't quite sure what.

"Aye, there's someone special for me. It might come to naught, things being as they are, but, yes, there is someone."

Maude reached out and patted her hand. "I'll be thinking good thoughts for you, then. Is he someone I'd like, do you think?" only to be puzzled by the sly grin of amusement on the woman's face, "more than likely, Maudie, more than likely. Imagine you'd feel like you've known him forever."

On the way back to Brandonshire, she laughed out loud at what Maude would say if she knew just who that someone special was, someone Maude had known as a brash young man with an engaging smile, one who occasionally played cards in her pub, had an acquaintance with their laddie so far away in Germany. {"Aye, Maudie, I think you'd like him. At least, you used to from the stories I heard from you and Marisol; his name didn't come up often, but when it did, there was no ill-will certainly."}. [Note: references are to the characters in the Hogan's Heroes series 'The Life and Times of One Peter Newkirk'] 

The information was obtained, from somewhat dubious sources, but accurate for all that. It was placed into Kevin Richards' hands by a rough and cheeky youth of maybe fifteen backed up by another three somewhat younger during a visit to a small East End Pub, and he groaned with frustration at both the inaccuracy of his original information - understandably close in some ways, but wildly inaccurate where it counted, the final conclusions - and at the knowledge that while his intelligence sources had been working on this for three months and more all together, three weeks since it started coming to a head, well, it had taken those youngsters all of three days to twiddle out the truth.

He wondered just how the hell she knew those disreputable young scoundrels in the first place; they obviously knew her; the contact had ended with, "glad to be of 'elp, soldier-boy; sides, she pays well for w'at she wants; don't let 'erself get skint, but don't try to twiddle ye neither. Rue's a good one, always 'as been." He wondered how much it had cost her to obtain the information, if he could find a way to get her reimbursed; if nothing else, he had money of his own he could tap into. He figured she'd never tell him, so he asked and cheerfully was given a figure with a cheeky, "paid us 'alf up front; rest to come"; the older woman behind the bar coughed sharply, the boy turned and looked and she gave him a warning look in return. He sighed and grinned, shrugged cheerfully, "well, no 'arm in trying, is there now mate?" This time Richards was given a figure two thirds of the first one; still outrageous, but probably more in line, but with the whole already paid.

The boys left, Richards finished his drink. "Rue?" he inquired, getting a shrug from the woman behind the bar.

"She uses 'Rue' for the more, shall we say, casual acquaintances. Double meanin, acourse. Depending on w'ere you're from, can mean 'Red', but also tells 'ow bitter they'll feel about the day they decide to cross her, you see," all with a very knowing smile. "Like 'er sister in that, only maybe even more so, though I'd never 'ave believed that til I met this one." He nodded his understanding, not that he did necessarily, but that was usually the case when dealing with the O'Donnell women.

He looked more closely at the older woman, "Thank you for your intervention."

The woman grinned at him, "she'd 'ave 'is nuts in a twist if she found out, and knowing 'er, she would. And 'e's a good lad when all's said and done." Yes, she obviously was well-known locally.

Back at his office, he picked up the phone, put the wheels in motion, and two days later, the occupant of that small rose-covered cottage had been taken into custody. She'd been involved up to her pretty neck in espionage, in fact getting most of her information from two of the men serving with a Special Ops unit stationed nearby, though some from a friendly bartender who was trying to get on her good side and who liked to chat about what his customers were talking about, and those customers included the rest of the men on all three teams, including the officers. She'd kept good records, so there were others going down, her contacts and her own Handler.

The men had been devastated to learn what their loose lips had led to, had been disciplined. There was talk of removing them, but they were good men, notwithstanding, and Richards thought they'd learned their lesson; their unit leaders would be keeping a firm eye on them from now on, especially since those leaders had also been a little too free with their talk in that pub as well; pure embarrassed they were, to say the least. That friendly bartender had received just a bit of a friendly but very firm warning as well about passing on anything he heard from any of the men. They'd had to be careful there; he wasn't a traitor, just not overly bright, and you couldn't go leaning on the civilians quite so hard, not unless there was good cause.

Now he just had to deal with what he'd stirred up in Brandonshire. No, he couldn't regret it, not when it had led to this successful elimination of such an accomplished and busy cell of fifth columnists, but he did dread it, more than a little. {"I wonder if a bottle of good whiskey will help? Maybe two. Bourbon for her, of course - now, where can I get a case of decent bourbon?"} He knew it would take at least that to cool that temper of hers enough to get her to listen to him. And he'd put off asking her any questions, anything connected to what Michael had let slip; he had more sense; he'd wait til she got over this little debacle first. 

"The Manor House at Brackley Ash. There's three Special Ops units there, twenty-four men plus three unit leaders along with a residence crew of three and a full time clerk - a prime opportunity for trying to gather information, obviously. An overly talkative bartender at the local pub. And a pretty little brunette named Gloria Redley, or at least going by that name, in a sweet little cottage with roses blooming by the door, on the outskirts of the village, busily getting all kinds of odds and ends out of at least two, maybe more of the men up at the Manor, as well as a bundle more out of that bartender who was trying to snuggle up to her."

Garrison was listening grimly, his men pretty much silent for once. Garrison wasn't any too pleased with the information that he and his team had been suspected of leaking information, or for that matter, that the O'Donnell woman had been suspected of being a double-agent, and he doubted either Jake or Lou down at the pub would be any too thrilled if they ever heard about their supposed part in this either. His voice was tight and low, reflecting just how displeased he really was, "the Manor House at Brackley Ash, a bartender, three Special Ops units, a pretty little brunette named Gloria. Just how did this somehow translate to Brandonshire, us, and a redhead named Meghada? One who is, or at least was, if you remember, one of your own agents? Just as WE are?"

Richards sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck trying to ease some of the tension residing there. "Partly because of how the messages read. Actually, the first one we were able to get our hands on intact, a little more than three weeks ago, read, "Success at BRA - 2 fr MAN team talking freely - bart 2 - no susp - intel to follow - RED". Of course, in hindsight, it meant "Success at Brackley Ash - 2 from Manor House team talking freely - bartender too- no suspicion - intel to follow - Redley. The thing is," and Casino broke in, "the thing is, WE were the ones they thought of first thing, right? The cons?? Just had to be us, no doubt about it! And that dragging her into it!" He was seething and so were the rest of the men, including Garrison.

Richards shook his head, "actually, that wasn't it."

The varied sounds coming from the other men indicated their disbelief in his denial. Well, he couldn't have expected much else, and he could see how it would look to them; it wouldn't have been the first time. Just, this time, it really wasn't that. He tried again, "the thing is, the ones trying to crack this had much more knowledge of the Special Forces teams; damned little of Special Ops, all that 'need to know' business, of course, keeping things divided up. I know it makes some sense, eliminates some risk, but it also puts on the blinders when something like this comes along. And someone, in their wisdom, assigned the investigation to just those, not a mix which could have provided broader knowledge. Once they intercepted a couple of the coded messages, they pulled the Special Forces team files, sorted by what they deemed important first, the BRA, coming up with Brandonshire, Braxcom, and Brandley Point. Brackley Ash, of course, being Special Ops, never even came to the surface. Of those two, Brandonshire has the Mansion; Braxcom has Waverly House, Brandley Point has Croften Priory. Each village has a pub, Brandley Point has two actually. So, THEY decided it was Brandonshire, the Mansion, then started looking for any likely 'RED's, and came up with Meghada O'Donnell, The Dragon, a redhead; seems the village has a serious dearth of true redheads other than her and a six year old boy and his two year old sister, along with their ninety-seven year old great-grandfather. So they put two and two together and got seven, and came to me."

"I knew it was nonsense, told them to keep looking, they were on the wrong trail; they did, at least went through the motions, but were still pretty much convinced they were right, that I just didn't want to admit a team and an independent I'd Handled were in on this. Frankly, I'm rather surprised I wasn't shut out of the whole thing myself! I know for over three weeks they had a man watching here, another at the Cottage, a third steadily drinking the cellar dry over at the local pub. I'm told the reports have been only slightly interesting; though your men's skirmish with those sheep was noted and got a few laughs, though it did bring your men and yourself back into contact with her which caused some excitement and speculation; however, since no information was passed down the pipeline, it went nowhere."

"Her all day session at the hospital interested several, and I'm only guessing but I imagine that was where she ditched her follower when she went to ferret out the truth of this whole mess; that started some odd rumors going around, none of which she'll be all too pleased with; I can see some black eyes and busted jaws in the gossipmongers future. The next person making any mention of her 'icy halo slipping askew and her now dealing with the consequences before she's too far on and found out' might just end up in the Thames."

Things stopped when an explanation was demanded by the men, and the answer dropped a few jaws. Yes, they could see an icy bath waiting for someone.

"As far as I could tell, the only thing the man watching The Doves got was a three week hangover! Though I expect he helped the profit line over there quite nicely. For safety's sake, I wanted to keep as much distance between your team and Meghada as I could, so any new information being passed through couldn't be put at your doorsteps. My prime mistake, of course, was in not telling her, but I thought that would have defeated the purpose. As it is, I am quite certain she was instrumental in digging out the truth. I'll be stopping there later; I have a case of bourbon in the car to ease my apologies along, as well as an envelope to reimburse her for the not inconsiderable amount of cash she laid out to get it done; and no, I didn't find that out from her. I went directly to the ones who'd dug out the information on her behalf."

"Interesting group," he shuddered. "I DO NOT want to know how she knows, and is obviously on good terms with a young East End street gang, thank you kindly!"

Goniff raised a brow at that; the Major might not, but he'd rather like to know! {"Wonder which one?"}

Casino snorted, "she gets a case of bourbon; we get two lousy bottles of whiskey."

Richards laughed, "well, I thought it would be easier to placate you, and less dangerous. Her brother let me know she is seriously pissed and inclined to demonstrate that quite firmly. I'd like to avoid that if possible. It seems she can get quite inventive." That got a rumble of wry agreement from around the room.

"Her brother came to me, quietly, to find out what was going on. When I declined to discuss it with him, he told me it was either him or her, and he would suggest I take the safer approach and talk with him. Asked how I'd like to play Ebenezer Scrooge, having a midnight caller and one not nearly so inclined to be benevolent as any of the three he had. Gave me a few chills, the way he explained it and all. She does rather have a temper, as you might know."

He sipped at his drink, smiling, taking a ever so casual look at the five men, trying to figure out just what Michael had alluded to. His eyes drifted over them - the rough talking surly safecracker, the cheeky little Cockney pickpocket cum second story man, the sullen young Indian, the haughty and sophisticated Italian. Somehow, he just couldn't believe any of that to be true. Garrison would have been the only real possibility, surely, and Richards knew how the Clan viewed military officers in general, American military officers in particular, and Garrison seemed intent on avoiding any personal relationships that he could tell. {"No, Michael got the wrong end of the stick somehow, I'm quite sure of it."}

His thoughts did flicker to her odd acquaintance with the East End youths, his gaze moved back to the pickpocket who'd obviously come from those same rough streets by his abominable accent. He shook his head firmly, {"no, not a chance!"}

***

He sat tucked up there on the stone wall, back in his old position, arms curled around his bent knees, chin tucked over the tops of his knees, looking once again a little like a medieval gargoyle, staring morosely as she came out into the garden. She seemed to sense he was there, glanced briefly in his direction, but continued to set her notepad and pen and coffee cup on the small table. She pulled out the chair, hesitated, then turned to face in his direction, just looking, not saying a word.

He swallowed deeply, and a nervous twitch, certainly not a smile, crossed his face. Clearing his throat roughly, he asked, "you gonna let me come down?"

That got a considering look, then a slow steady nod, with a slight softening in her face, "aye, you can come down." He jumped down from the wall and slowly paced forward til he was directly in front of her, though still a good three feet away, hands shoved deep into his pockets, head tilted down to one side, looking up at her cautiously.

She frowned, chin up in stubborn lines, edges of her mouth downturned just a little, "are you going to warn me to keep my hands to myself when I hand you your tea??" and he flushed deeply and looked at her through his sandy eyelashes.

"Acted like a ruddy jerk, I know. I come to say I'm sorry for that."

She tilted her head, looking at him long, considering, then nodding firmly in agreement. "Yes, you did. And you'd damned well better be."

He was hesitant, visibly apprehensive, "You gonna ask me why?"; her voice was carefully neutral, "You want to tell me?" He wrinkled up his nose and grimaced, "not really. Think it would make me look like a bigger fool than I already do." She gave just a bit of an involuntary snicker, "well, we wouldn't want that, now would we?"

But then she stopped teasing him, her voice changed to something closer to its usual warm welcoming tone, though with some deliberate reserve, as she motioned toward the door with her head, "come along in, laddie, and I'll make you a fresh pot of tea."

And when she sat the cup in front of him, not handing it to him as she usually would, along with a basket of fresh rolls, she hesitated, said the words she'd thought about ever since that afternoon, "Goniff, I don't want it to be a problem between us. If you don't like me touching you, even to tend your hurts or to hand you a cup of tea, if it bothers you so much, then I'll try to take more care . ." only to see a faint blush fill his face as he shook his head vigorously, and his blue eyes actually meeting hers for the first time since he'd arrived.

He licked his lips, then told her, "aint that. It's just," and he paused, wondering if he shouldn't just shut up while he was ahead, but remembering Chief's advice, drew a deep breath and plunged ahead, "it's that I DO like it, like it a lot, maybe more than I should. Figured you'd maybe not like knowing that, think it was, well, off. Know Major Richards would, for sure."

He waited, wondering, then seeing the warmth in her eyes deepen, saw her relax fully now, "well, then, as I don't mind knowing that, not at all, don't think it's off, and since I don't really care what Major Richards thinks about it, I guess we don't have a problem after all."

The shy smile that came to his face was echo'd in the one that crept across hers, and they sat and had tea and talked of this and that and nothing important. She smiled inside as well, thinking to herself, {"I am so glad he came back home; I've missed him."}

And while she was clearing things away so that they could go into the sitting room for some music, he looked around slowly, inhaled deeply, and felt the warmth tell him what he had felt before, felt but couldn't quite bring himself to believe, not yet. {"Home??"}


End file.
